


Precious Metals

by sciencefictioness



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:18:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: Yuuri stares at the medal around his neck like he doesn’t quite believe it’s real, and Viktor reaches out to slide his fingers behind it.  He lifts it away from Yuuri’s chest, holding his gaze as he presses his lips to it, lingering there with his eyes glinting mischievously.  Viktor watches his pupils blow wide, and then Yuuri’s hand snakes out and snatches the ribbon Viktor’s own medal is hanging from.He coils the fabric around his knuckles twice and pulls, until Viktor has to lift up on his toes, straining to keep his balance.  Air catches in his lungs, almost a gasp.  Their faces are less than an inch apart when Yuuri leans down into his space, and Viktor splays a hand out on his chest to keep from falling over, blinking up at him in surprise.Yuuri’s eyes are on fire, and Viktor flushes bright under their scrutiny, cameras flashing madly in his peripheral vision.  His mouth falls open, his breath coming faster, fingers clutching at the gauzy fabric of Yuuri’s costume.  Silky blue and black, soft under his hands.  It’s instinctive now, the way his body lights up for Yuuri, responding to every touch, every look, every word.





	Precious Metals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiokushitaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiokushitaka/gifts).



> //blows a kiss to kio// I love you a frankly unhealthy amount and I hope you enjoy this piece.

Cameras glint like starlight in the crowd, flowers and stuffed toys falling all around them, and the cheering should be loud in Viktor’s ears, but it isn’t.  Everything is far away.  Vaguely ethereal, his whole world shrinking down until it’s muffled in the background, unimportant, secondary.

 

Everything except Yuuri.

 

His Yuuri.

 

Yuuri stands next to him on the podium, a little bit higher up, gold to Viktor’s silver.  It’s the third year they’ve competed against one another, and finally,  _ finally,  _ Yuuri has him beat.  He never made it easy, and Yuuri never held it against him, but here they are at last.  Viktor is smiling so wide his face hurts, thumb toying with the ring on his right hand.  He bites his bottom lip, still grinning, unable to look at the cameras trained on them.  

 

It’s impossible to tear his eyes off Yuuri.

 

Yuuri stares at the medal around his neck like he doesn’t quite believe it’s real, and Viktor reaches out to slide his fingers behind it.  He lifts it away from Yuuri’s chest, holding his gaze as he presses his lips to it, lingering there with his eyes glinting mischievously.  Viktor watches his pupils blow wide, and then Yuuri’s hand snakes out and snatches the ribbon Viktor’s own medal is hanging from.  

 

He coils the fabric around his knuckles twice and pulls, until Viktor has to lift up on his toes, straining to keep his balance.  Air catches in his lungs, almost a gasp.  Their faces are less than an inch apart when Yuuri leans down into his space, and Viktor splays a hand out on his chest to keep from falling over, blinking up at him in surprise.

 

Yuuri’s eyes are  _ on fire,  _ and Viktor flushes bright under their scrutiny, cameras flashing madly in his peripheral vision.  It will be all over the news tonight, Yuuri tugging him around like a rag doll, and Viktor following along without hesitation, without regret.  His mouth falls open, his breath coming faster, fingers clutching at the gauzy fabric of Yuuri’s costume.  Silky blue and black, soft under his hands.  It’s instinctive now, the way his body lights up for Yuuri, responding to every touch, every look, every word.

 

Then Yuuri’s mouth is at his ear, whisper soft, just for him.

 

“You’re mine now, Vityasha.”

 

As though he wasn’t already.

 

As though he hasn’t been for ages, since he first laid eyes on Yuuri all those years ago.

 

Like Yuuri doesn’t own him, body and soul.

 

He nods, dumbstruck and dazed, and the smile he gets in return is dazzling.

 

Yuuri brings their mouths together, and kisses him soundly, until Viktor is dizzy with the taste of him.  When Yuuri releases his medal Viktor takes a few moments to gather himself, still floating, even with both feet firmly on the podium.

 

Yuuri laces their fingers together, and Viktor feels the metal of Yuuri’s ring pressing into him.  

 

_ You’re mine,  _ Yuuri said, and Viktor realizes he what he means, and starts to cry.  Nothing dramatic, just a couple of tears tracking wet down his cheeks.  He reaches up to paw them away with the heel of his free hand, sniffling quietly through a smile as his breathing goes ragged.

 

Viktor wants to get married in Hasetsu, cherry blossoms heavy on the trees, just like when he first visited Yuuri there.

 

Then it doesn’t matter what they do, or where they go, because he’ll always, always be Yuuri’s.

 

…

 

Every banquet he’s attended since he’s been with Yuuri has been mostly the same.  Different places, different faces, but similar enough to blur together in Viktor’s memory.  Viktor follows Yuuri around, and watches him get progressively more relaxed with every glass of champagne, sinking into himself, going loose and liquid.  They dance together, talk to competitors, and sponsors, and reporters.  

 

It’s not boring, exactly, not with Yuuri next to him, the joy of victory still fresh on them both.  But Viktor’s been doing this for well over a decade now, and it’s all very ubiquitous, easily forgotten.

 

Viktor has a feeling he won’t be forgetting this evening anytime soon.

 

He’s sitting at the bar, doing his best to follow whatever it is Mila is saying to him.  Something about Sara, and their routines for next season.  Viktor isn’t really paying attention, shifting in place on his stool, eyes drawn across the room to where Yuuri stands between Phichit and Celestino.  He smiles into his champagne flute as Phichit snickers at some joke Viktor can’t hear, Celestino shaking his head in mock disapproval.

 

Yuuri’s hair falls in his eyes, grown longer over the past few years, strands loose around his face.  His lips shine from the gloss Viktor put on them before they left their hotel room, the barest hint of red in it, standing out beautifully against his skin.  He holds his glass with delicate fingers, strong enough to throw Viktor around on the ice, yet long and lithe and graceful.  His clothes are rumpled, and it’s endearing somehow, just like everything else about Yuuri.  His jacket is missing, and his tie sits askew, the first button of his shirt undone.  Yuuri is a bit of a disaster, half drunk and noisy, nose wrinkled as he throws his head back and laughs.

 

He’s so lovely that Viktor feels it in his chest, like someone is reaching in to take hold of his heart, and squeezing.

 

Yuuri looks up as though he can feel Viktor’s gaze on him, and his smile goes devious and alluring.  He slides his hand into his pocket, looking deliberately away from Viktor as he does so, pretending to be absorbed in the conversation.

 

Viktor shivers and tries not to whimper as the plug he’s wearing under his clothes begins vibrating, faster and harder than before.  

 

It was his own fault, really.  A longstanding promise on Viktor’s part, one he never thought would be a challenge to make good on.  Laced with innuendo, something he teased Yuuri with constantly, both in bed and on the ice.

 

_ ‘Win gold for me, Yuuri.  I’ll do anything you like.’ _

 

He hadn’t forgotten, but he still hadn’t been expecting it when Yuuri bent him over their bed before the banquet and eased his legs apart, carefully working him open.  Thoroughly, meticulously, and then he’d pressed the plug into Viktor, voice lilting in his ears.

 

_ ‘Take care of this for me tonight, won’t you, Vitka?’ _

 

Viktor will do absolutely anything for Yuuri, and they both know it.

 

It’s awkward, clenching his muscles tight enough to keep the plug in without letting it affect the way he walks, the way he stands.  And Yuuri, merciless as he often is where their sex lives are concerned, still wants to dance.  Music plays in the background, and Yuuri holds out his hand, and Viktor…

 

Viktor can’t say no.

 

He’s been dancing with Yuuri since the beginning, and it would be a crime to stop now.  Yuuri twines their fingers together, and splays his hand out on the small of Viktor’s back, tugging him in close.  Leading, and Viktor follows, powerless to do anything else but chase him.

 

The silicone moves within him, nudging into his prostate occasionally, tormenting him with every step.  Viktor keeps up with Yuuri, if only just, breathing hard as Yuuri spins him, twirls him, dips him.  By the end of the song he’s flushed and gasping, half hard in the lacy black panties Yuuri had selected for him, biting his lip so hard it hurts.  Finally Yuuri takes pity on him, letting Viktor sit at the bar while he seeks out Phichit, ostensibly to congratulate him.

 

Now that he’s sitting still the feeling of the toy in him is much more tolerable, constant yet not overwhelming.  It will be a long night, to be sure, but Viktor thinks he can manage without too much trouble.

 

Then Yuuri grins at him from across the room and reaches into his pocket, tapping at something Viktor can’t see.  

 

When the plug clicks on for the first time Viktor nearly falls off his stool.  His whole body twitches,  and he gasps out a pitiful sound before he can swallow it down.  Viktor lays his forehead against the wood of the bar and closes his eyes, back arching into the sensation as much as he dares, hands clenching into fists.  The vibrations start out low, building slowly in intensity until it’s all Viktor can do not to writhe, before cutting off entirely.

 

After a few moments of blissful, tortuous stillness the plug starts up again, and Viktor whines softly, and throws a baleful look at Yuuri.  Dark eyes stare back at Viktor, utterly remorseless.

 

Yuuri blows him a kiss, and winks, and the rumbling ratchets up higher.  Viktor shouldn't be surprised.

 

Yuuri didn't win gold by pulling his punches.

 

Viktor shivers all over, cock viciously hard now, and covers his face with one hand, looking through his fingers at Yuuri in between the brutal cycles of vibration.

 

Mila comes to check on him after a while, worried he’s been drinking too much,  _ are you okay, Vitya?  You’re all flushed. _

 

Viktor assures her he’s good, waving away her concern with a smoothness that comes from years of practice.  A flippant gesture, an airy laugh.  He’s a little rusty at pretending he’s fine when he isn’t now that Yuuri’s in his life, but Mila has had enough wine that she doesn’t appear to notice his squirming, or his pink cheeks, or the sweat breaking out on his skin.  She seems content to carry on the conversation all by herself with only minimal input on his part, for which Viktor is grateful, because the few things he manages to say come out high pitched and breathy.  So Viktor hums, and nods, and smiles, only half listening to Mila rant about how biased the judges are in Women’s Singles.

 

He’s more focused on not coming in his clothes than anything else, warmth pooling dangerously in his abdomen, vague unhappiness settling there alongside it.  Viktor doesn’t want to finish like this.  In a crowded dance hall, untouched, still dressed.  Without Yuuri.  When he catches Yuuri’s eyes next his own are pleading, raw desperation on display for anyone to see.

 

Yuuri’s expression goes soft, and he excuses himself from his conversation with Phichit and Celestino and heads to the bar.  Viktor can feel the way his face lights up the closer Yuuri gets.  He’s transparent, and besotted, and he doesn’t even care.

 

Yuuri reaches out to thread his fingers through Viktor’s hair, and he leans into the touch, looking up at Yuuri from underneath his lashes with a pout.

 

_ “Yuuri…”   _ Viktor says, and Yuuri smiles at him adoringly.

 

“Vitka,”  Yuuri responds, like he’s answering a question, before turning to Mila and patting her on the shoulder.  “I’ll be stealing him for a moment, okay?”

 

Mila laughs, her eyes knowing, but she doesn’t protest, and Yuuri doesn’t wait for a reply before he tugs Viktor gently to his feet.  Yuuri takes his hand, and Viktor follows after him, stepping carefully, not really paying attention to where they’re headed until the bathroom door closes behind them.  The sounds of the banquet are muffled within, distant laughter, faraway music.  Disappointment lances through Viktor, because Yuuri surely means to take the plug out until they can get back to their room, and it feels like losing.  Like he hadn’t been able to perform well enough, somehow.  Like he’s failed, and he frowns, sullen and unhappy.

 

There isn’t anyone else in the bathroom, all the stall doors yawning wide, and Yuuri backs them into one and clicks the lock shut.  Viktor opens his mouth, ready to complain, until Yuuri shoves him back against the door and kisses him hard.  It’s all teeth and tongue, Yuuri grabbing rough at his clothes.  Mouthing down his jaw, nipping at his throat, and nothing about this feels like failure.

 

It feels like Yuuri has been waiting all night to do this to him.  Like it was agony to keep his hands off Viktor, to keep his distance, to keep him on edge.  

 

Like he’s just as pathetic as Viktor is, just as desperate, only hiding it better.  Yuuri reaches into his pocket for the remote and turns the plug up viciously high, until Viktor is quaking all over, whining into his mouth.

 

_ “Yuuri,  _ Yuuri, please,” he asks, unsure what he’s pleading for exactly, and the vibration cuts off altogether with a click.  Viktor sags against Yuuri, face shoved into his neck, mumbling into the skin there.  “Let’s go back to the room, I don’t want to wait, I don’t-”

 

Yuuri’s hand slips under Viktor’s jacket, tugging the tail of his shirt loose from his belt.  He eases his hand down the back of Viktor’s pants, and palms roughly at the base of the plug, driving it deeper.  Viktor’s spine arches as he grinds into Yuuri’s hand, the back of his head slamming into the stall door as he groans.  Heat crawls up his spine, cock aching to be touched, wetness pulsing from the tip to soak through his underwear.  One of his thighs wraps around Yuuri of its own volition, and Yuuri grabs it with his free hand, forcing it higher.  His mouth is at Viktor’s throat, and he noses over the shell of Viktor’s ear,  breath hot.  

 

He smells like sweat.  Faded cologne, Viktor’s lotion.  Faint, sharp notes of expensive champagne.

 

Yuuri is drunk, and hungry, just this side of wild.  Uninhibited.

 

Shameless, and god, Viktor adores him this way.

 

“You don’t want me to fuck you right now?  We can go back to the room, if you like, but I was going to take this out,” Yuuri says, twisting the base of the toy, tugging on it until Viktor can feel the stretch, “and fuck you against the door until you can’t stand up straight.  But if you want to wait…”  

 

Yuuri trails off, letting go of Viktor’s leg and easing his hand out of his clothes.  He starts to step away, to put some space between them, but Viktor isn’t having it, yanking him in close again.    The amused grin on Yuuri’s face tells Viktor that he doesn’t really expect to get far.  Yuuri wants Viktor just as much as Viktor wants him.  Viktor knows. 

 

But Yuuri likes to hear him beg, and that’s okay, because Viktor likes begging.

 

“Please, Yuuri, please, please,” he says, not his most articulate moment, but effective enough that Yuuri is unbuckling his belt and shoving Viktor’s pants down his thighs.

 

“Okay, Vitka, okay…”

 

Yuuri gropes at every inch of skin he can reach, grasping and pawing like he’s never gotten a chance to before, as though it’s the first time he’s ever touched Viktor this way.  He makes little whimpering noises that he seems entirely unaware of, and they hit Viktor in his guts, the open, vulnerable sound of them.  He sucks a mark into Viktor’s throat, too high to be hidden by his shirt collar, blatant and obvious.  Viktor doesn’t mind.

 

Wearing Yuuri’s teeth in his skin is a privilege.  

 

Yuuri’s hand lingers for long moments over the wet lace of Viktor’s panties, flitting fondly over the bows, stroking at the silky fabric before he decides to work Viktor’s clothes off.  

 

It takes a bit of effort to free one of his legs from both his pants and his panties, losing his shoe in the process, but then Yuuri hooks an elbow under Viktor’s knee and lifts until he’s spread wide.  For a long moment Yuuri simply holds him that way, staring unabashedly at the curve of Viktor’s ass, the jut of his cock,  the flat base of the toy holding him open.  He runs his knuckles down Viktor’s wet shaft, palming his sac briefly.  Pets at his thighs, possessive, watching him squirm under the attention.  Viktor’s panties are tangled up around his leg, his pants stuck around his knee, belt dangling loose.  It should feel silly, but it’s impossible with Yuuri looking at him that way, like he’s something precious.

 

Like he's everything.

 

_ “Yuuri,”  _ Viktor whines, and Yuuri huffs through a smile.

 

“Impatient.”

 

It's true, but it's also Yuuri’s fault, at least this time.

 

He coaxes the plug out easily, the silicone still slick with lube when Yuuri pockets it, Viktor stretched and loose in its wake.  It leaves him feeling agonizingly empty, but then Yuuri shoves three fingers into him, and Viktor shudders.  One of his hands flies up above him to grip the stall door, while the other clutches Yuuri’s shoulder, his socked toes sliding against the smooth wall of the bathroom stall.  Yuuri curls his fingers, spreading them, as though checking to see if Viktor’s ready.  Under normal circumstances it would be sweet, Yuuri making sure he wasn’t going to hurt Viktor, being careful.  Something gentle, and thoughtful, as Yuuri so often is with him.

 

But Viktor has been ready for hours, and Yuuri knows it.  He smirks, biting his lip and watching Viktor writhe on his fingers with something dark in his gaze.  It’s not gentle, not careful.

 

It’s Yuuri taking Viktor apart, breaking him into pieces with a smile, and Viktor is in love.  

 

“Come on, you’ve teased me enough already, just-”

 

Viktor’s complaints are cut off abruptly as Yuuri curls his fingers and tugs them out slow, dragging over Viktor’s prostate in the process.  Yuuri rubs the crown of his cock up and down between Viktor’s cheeks, both of them messy with lube.  He arches his back, trying to coax Yuuri into action, desperation rising to a fever pitch within him.  Yuuri keeps sliding against him, not pushing in, and Viktor wants to cry, suddenly.  

 

Yuuri’s  _ his,  _ and he  _ wants,  _ he wants Yuuri  _ now.   _ Viktor feels frantic with it, feels it clawing in his chest, swelling in his mouth.  Viktor’s eyes are wet, tears threatening, and it’s not fair, he’s been good all night, he’s earned this, he’s-

 

Yuuri presses into him, filling Viktor up inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt.  He keens out a pitiful noise, the leg that’s been supporting him going shaky and giving way underneath him as Viktor’s mouth falls open, eyes fluttering shut.  He slips down the door a few inches, and it’s no surprise that Yuuri catches him, looping his arm under Viktor’s other leg and lifting him up.  

 

No surprise, because Yuuri’s always there to catch him.

 

The heat of Yuuri inside him is everything Viktor needs, and Yuuri kisses up his bruised throat, over his jaw, just under his ear.

 

“Perfect,” Yuuri says, and it sounds like worship, “you’re so good for me, Vitka.”

 

Viktor soaks up the praise, starving for it, letting it wash over him like rain.  He nods in answer, any words he might manage swallowed up in a rough exhale, breaths laced with a whine.  Yuuri shifts Viktor around until he has a better grip on his thighs, fingertips digging into the meat of them as he rubs his face against Viktor’s chest.  He takes Viktor’s collar in his teeth, and tugs, looking up at Viktor from underneath his lashes.  He's pleading silently, wide eyed and hopeful.  Viktor takes the hint, and lets go of Yuuri’s shoulder to tug his tie loose, undoing the first few buttons on his shirt.  Yuuri hums appreciatively as he kisses at Viktor’s chest, lips making wet noises anywhere they find skin.  He grinds himself up into Viktor, unable to go any deeper but making a valiant effort anyway.

 

“Ah, moye solnyshko,” Yuuri says, voice low and broken.

 

_ Sunshine. _

 

The endearment fills Viktor up with warmth, honey sweet and overwhelming.  It's hard to breathe.

 

Viktor  _ aches. _

 

Then Yuuri moves, pulling out and fucking back into Viktor with a groan.  Again, and again, urgently, and all Viktor can do is whimper, and shake, and take it.  The door of the stall groans under the strain as Yuuri thrusts and mutters something low in Japanese that Viktor can’t quite make out.  

 

The slide is wet, and smooth, and Viktor can’t help how noisy he is, can’t make himself be quiet.  Not with Yuuri taking him this way, hips driving into him, Viktor bouncing up and down with every stroke.  He moans, and pants, and calls Yuuri’s name, cheeks flushing even hotter.  His knuckles are white where he’s holding onto the stall, where he’s clinging to Yuuri’s shoulder.  Viktor’s cock is making a mess of his shirt, the cloth rucked up around his stomach.  He’s leaking, leaving damp streaks on the fabric, already embarrassingly close to finishing.

 

It’s inevitable, how Yuuri destroys him, how Yuuri leaves him broken and fixed all at once.

 

At some point the music and clamor of the party gets louder, a pair of voices rising over the rest of the din as someone comes into the bathroom.  Viktor looks instinctively towards the door, but is unable to hold back a mewling sound when Yuuri rocks into him.  Yuuri’s hand is at his mouth, covering it to muffle the noise, but it’s too little, too late.  The voices quiet immediately, and Viktor can feel the tension even through the wall, the awkwardness of their steps retreating back into the hallway.  Yuuri leans his forehead against Viktor’s and giggles, utterly unrepentant, sharing a conspiratorial look with him.

 

“Shhhh,” Yuuri says, comically loud in the silence of the bathroom, grinning wide, “they’ll hear you.”

 

His pupils are wide, and his mouth is red and puffy and wet, and he’s the most beautiful thing Viktor has ever seen.  Viktor surges forward to kiss him, and Yuuri lets his palm fall away to allow it, taking his mouth rough.  He hooks his elbow under Viktor’s thigh again, their kiss going sloppy and uncoordinated as Yuuri picks up his pace.  Yuuri curses, profanities tangled up with Viktor’s name hissed out against his lips.  

 

They’ve been together long enough that Viktor can tell Yuuri’s close.  His voice is strained, and his eyes wrench shut, fingers holding onto Viktor just a bit too tight.  Yuuri’s hips stutter, one shoe sliding a few inches across the floor as he briefly loses his footing before catching himself.  He leans a little harder against Viktor, tugs him down onto cock with a little more abandon.

 

A dozen tiny details that catch Viktor’s attention, etched into his memory, tattooed there.

 

Yuuri losing himself, all because of Viktor.  It’s never going to get old, that he can do this Yuuri, that he can make him fall to pieces like this.

 

Viktor has been ready to come for ages, since before Yuuri locked them in, and he lets go of the stall door to get a hand around himself and stroke.  He’s unbalanced, but it’s worth it as he twists in place, body bowing out from the wall, hair falling in his eyes.  Everything is bright, and the sound of skin on skin is loud in his ears, his thighs shivering under Yuuri’s fingers.

 

“Yuuri, come on, come on,” he coaxes.  He needs to watch Yuuri first.  Viktor runs his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, tangles them there and tugs.  

 

Yuuri jerks, and whines, and obeys.  

 

It’s brutally hot as Yuuri comes inside him in bursts, easing out an inch or so before fucking back in, helpless little thrusts.  Viktor slips down the door a bit, Yuuri’s face pressed into his chest, breathing hard.  He isn’t sure if it’s the heat, or that he's too full, or the ragged noise Yuuri makes, but he comes over his fingers a few moments later, working himself through it as Yuuri finally goes still.  They stay there a while, and when Viktor presses his face into Yuuri’s throat he can feel his heart beating, rabbit fast but slowing steadily.

 

He doesn’t even blink when Yuuri takes his hand and licks it clean, lapping the pearly seed meticulously off each finger, off his palm, off his knuckles.  Then Yuuri kisses over his jaw until he reaches Viktor’s mouth, lingering there, soft and reverent.  Viktor expects this, Yuuri’s unending affection, how he looks at Viktor like he’s all there is in the world.  It’s not a surprise.

 

The surprise comes when Yuuri pulls out of Viktor, and instead of a rush of fluid leaking down his thighs, he feels the smooth tip of the plug easing back inside.  Viktor whines as Yuuri nudges it all way in, holding it in place, giving Viktor time to clench around the silicone.  Too much, too full, too wet, too tight.  Yuuri noses at his neck, setting Viktor carefully down on his feet, holding him up as he finds his legs again.

 

“Keep this a little while longer.  You’ll do that for me, yeah?  Solnyshko?”

 

Viktor nods without hesitation.  It’s automatic.  Instinctive, easy as breathing.  Because Viktor...

 

Viktor will do absolutely anything for Yuuri.

 

Yuuri helps him get dressed.  He tucks Viktor’s cock back into his ruined panties, the plug snugly in place.  Pulls up his pants, slips on his shoe, fastens his belt.  Still, even with his shirt buttoned up and his tie fixed, Viktor looks wrecked.

 

There are half a dozen hickeys on his throat that weren’t there before they disappeared into the bathroom with one another.  His hair is wild, and his lips are inflamed, swollen from Yuuri’s kisses.  His clothes are irreparably rumpled, and he’s flushed bright, grinning vacant and blissful.  Yuuri is remarkably put together in comparison, but Viktor is too fucked out to be upset about it.  The plug shifts inside him, harder to keep in place now, Yuuri’s come making it too slick, too loose.  

 

Every step is going to be torture, and Viktor’s cock is already twitching with interest, arousal pooling in his belly.  He's a disaster, totally ruined.

 

Yuuri kisses him, and smiles.

 

“Dance with me,” he says, and it’s not a question, really.

 

Viktor can’t say no.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Give me some love guys.


End file.
